


court of wolves

by zunshtral



Category: Defense of the Ancients | Dota, Dota 2
Genre: M/M, Miscommunication, POV Second Person, hello naughty children its gay time, lots of background ships lmao, making out in the woods
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 07:07:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7350955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zunshtral/pseuds/zunshtral
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>it had been a while since you’ve been to one of these battles. even so, the rhythm was easy to get back into. last hit enemy creeps, deny allied ones when possible, harass the enemy heroes away when they strayed too close. the occasional early scuffle would break out, but no one quite had the damage to follow up on them, so both parties would retreat back to their towers to heal and wait for the next wave of creeps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	court of wolves

☼

 

it had been a while since you’ve been to one of these battles. even so, the rhythm was easy to get back into. last hit enemy creeps, deny allied ones when possible, harass the enemy heroes away when they strayed too close. the occasional early scuffle would break out, but no one quite had the damage to follow up on them, so both parties would retreat back to their towers to heal and wait for the next wave of creeps.

you send your hawk to hang above the trees, providing vision in case the enemies thought to come around from behind. your lane partner, who you quickly learn is named aiushtha, is quick to place wards that compliment your hawk’s positioning. she’s also chatty but doesn’t seem to mind that your conversations are mostly one sided. she cooes happily at your boar and readily summons her healing sprites after close calls, so you’re content with her company.

after a while, you manage to push closer to the enemy tower. aiushtha chases off the enemy heroes with spears and enchanted neutral creeps, though when she doesn’t return from the nearby woods and the announcer calls first blood, you figure both of the archer women caught her. you take a few last swings at the tower, but a green arrow comes streaking out of the forest -- so you figure it’s time to retreat back to your own tower and wait for aiushtha to come back.

as you cross the river and stand near the tier one, a snuffle from your boar draws attention to the side. it’s too early for surprise ganks, so you spare a quick glance toward the trees. a man stands half-shaded by a tree trunk, and while you vaguely remember him from the base before the match started, he still startles you a little. shrugging off the initial spook, you tip your head towards him in a nod.

before you can see if he responds, aiushtha hops up to your side with a ‘ _sproink!_ ’, already launching into a recap of what happened in the jungle moments ago. she stamps her hooves and gives her spear a little twirl before asking if you’re ready to get back in the lane. your head turns back to where the other man was a moment ago, but he’s no longer in sight. you nod, and she dances along ahead.

strange.

☾

eventually, day turns to night, and the enemy team had earlier agreed about no team fighting or ganking until morning. farming and creep pushing was allowed, but no crossing the river. the reason doesn’t really concern or interest you, so you spend the early dark hours taking down a few of the smaller camps for extra money. occasionally, you see aiushtha chattering excitedly to another centaur who, from what you can gather, must be bradwarden. she waves excitedly, and you nod back to both of them.

sylla crosses your path briefly, though he’s busy farming his radiance. you spare a few quick words, mainly about the state of the lane, before you go off to find a quiet spot to sharpen your axes. you send your boar off to stack camps and your hawk to keep an eye on the nearby lane.

as you get out your whetstone and spot a stump to sit on, the man from earlier comes down the stairs. you get a better look at him now, and first thing you notice are the large claws attached to the backs of his hands. they look wicked sharp, as do the fangs protruding from his mouth. his hair is dark and streaked with grey, and a part of you has to admit his sideburns are quite impressive. the unusual yellow of his eyes is intriguing, but it’s then you notice you’ve been staring at each other in silence for a few moments too long. you give him a nod and a good-natured wave, hoping to dispel the momentary awkwardness.

instead his eyebrows furrow, and you can only blink in surprise when his strange yellow eyes start to look you over, top to bottom. while you admit to staring, the feeling of his eyes on your body makes your skin prickle uncomfortably. suddenly you wish you had worn pants instead of your usual war skirt. you swear you hear a growl, and his clawed hands flex at his sides. after a tense minute, his gaze finds yours again, and he gives a slow nod before turning and running back up the stairs and into the dark forest.

the entire ordeal lasts maybe a few minutes, but it seems like an hour before you snap out of it and finally sit down heavily on a tree stump.

“motherfucker,” you grumble, “i think he’s going to kill me.”

☼

about an hour before dawn the team, minus the man you kept running into in the woods, regroups at the fountain. sylla has finished the radiance for his bear, and bradwarden is now outfitted with his blademail. it’s decided that a team push at the middle lane is the first plan of attack, and then splitting off back to the other lanes. the remaining member of the team, who you now learn is called lycan, will push the top tower while everyone is distracted.

at least, you think dryly, it’s nice to know the name of the man who looked ready to eat you whole.

you quickly purchase the final pieces of your own equipment, then send your hawk scouting ahead while aiushtha charms a nearby neutral creep to bring along for more support. bradwarden leans over to place a kiss on the top of her head before hefting his axe over his shoulder, and sylla turns into his bear form midway down the lane. you don’t see lycan anywhere in the trees, so you assume he’s already pushing the other lane.

good. you’d rather not have to worry about watching out for both enemy heroes _and_ an allied one.

as you get to the river, it quickly becomes apparent that the other team had a similar idea. the fight is quick to break out, with bradwarden charging in while sylla sends his bear to chase and harass the heroes with radiance burn. aiushtha stands back, sending her enchanted spears soaring whenever someone gets close enough. waiting for the right moment, you unleash your roar, then send your axes flying, and you can’t think about anything other than fighting for at least a few minutes.

the fight ends eventually, though, with both the red and blue trolls falling to bradwarden’s blademail and return. the centaur himself stays upright with the help of the healing sprites. one of the enemy rangers catches a retreating aiushtha with a few frost arrows, which you can only assume is petty revenge for the spears that felled the redheaded ranger. it doesn’t concern you, but you send your boar spitting poison after the drow as she disengages. your own health is dangerously low, but you figure you have enough space to limp back to base and heal while waiting for your support to respawn.

the sound of a gun cocking catches your ear, however, and you let out an exasperated groan. you don’t remember if the sniper had been in the team fight, but you certainly remember hearing the loud ring of gunshots early in the match.

at least this way you won’t have to walk back to the fountain.

the bullet sings louder as it closes in, and you take a final second to send your hawk into the woods. just as you close your eyes and wait for the shot to find it’s mark, you suddenly find yourself being tackled to the ground. your back hits packed dirt and stone, and you’re pretty sure there’s a rock digging right into your left shoulder blade. the shot misses and blows a chunk out of a nearby tree, and you hear a distant ‘ _i thought i had that!_ ’ from the other side of the river.

whoever jumped you now has a death grip on your side, and smells like moss and blood. you’re pretty sure sylla already went back to his lane, so you don’t know why he’d jump out of the woods to save you. you give a weak shove at his chest, grunting.

“dammit, sylla, get off me, you lug-”

a deep inhale and rumble that you can feel through your own chest finally makes your eyes snap open, and you find yourself staring into lycan’s face. his eyes are dark and unreadable and his teeth are just the slightest bit bared. his hand twitches on your hip; you can feel even his normal nails are sharp. you watch as his nostrils flare again and you’re pretty sure that this is it, that he’s gonna go searching around in your intestines with his claws like there’s treasure in there.

before you can even finish that thought, or start to wonder how awkward your respawn will be, he rolls off of you and runs back into the jungle in the blink of an eye. one moment you have a werewolf with murderous intent on top of you. the next? nothing. you take a minute to breathe, staring up at the annoyingly blue sky.

“did he just sniff me?” you ask out loud, but there’s no one to answer.

eventually you find your way back to the base, healing up and telling aiushtha to go and support bradwarden. she nods, hopping off without issue, throwing a ‘ _good luck!_ ’ over her shoulder as she passes the barracks. you stay in the fountain for as long as you can without guilt, but after a few minutes you decide to go and find sylla. last you saw he was heading back towards top lane, so you cut through the secret shop on the way.

you find him pretty easily -- he’s sitting alone on a fallen log while he packs his pipe. typical, but you aren’t going to be picky right now. you grunt to catch his attention and he nods for you to take a seat. if you hadn’t refused the last eighteen times he’d offered, you know he would try and pass his pipe to you. it’s the thought that counts, apparently.

you get out your whetstone and busy yourself with sharpening your axes, waiting for him to finish lighting his pipe. his bear isn’t nearby, so you assume it’s pushing the lane alone while sylla takes his break. after a few minutes he leans forward, one elbow resting on his knee, jerking his chin at you in a signal he’s ready to talk.

“i’m pretty sure lycan is going to kill me.”

that gets an eyebrow raise from the druid, but he doesn’t respond yet.

“nearly every time i look to the jungle he’s there staring at me, or whenever i cross paths with him to another lane he follows me there. sometimes in the middle of farming he’ll just stop and watch me until i’m out of sight! and get this, that’s not even the weirdest thing.”

sylla only raises his eyebrow yet again, blowing a cloud of smoke off to the side.

“he _sniffed_ me. he tackled me to the ground from out of nowhere and then sniffed me. twice, i think.”

sylla shrugs, exhaling smoke through his nostrils. he flicks a piece of moss off of his pants, which seems redundant because you’re pretty sure most of his current clothing is made of moss.

“have you considered talking to him at all?” he says around his pipe, holding the end with his teeth while he scrapes dirt out from under his nails.

of course you have, but the man never stands still long enough for you to get out more than a few words, let alone let you get within more than a few feet. for someone who’s been practically stalking you since the beginning of the match, he seems pretty avoidant.

you let out a groan, scrubbing a hand over your face.

when sylla finishes smoking, you rope him into pushing the nearby tower before night falls, using the last few moments of battle-induced mind blankness to relax before you both return to the base. once again, the other team makes a deal to not cross the river during the night. by now you’re bordering on curious for the reason, but not enough to do more than ask sylla. he shrugs, so you leave it at that.

☾

back at the base, aiushtha has already started dinner, throwing chunks of meat and vegetables into a pot while humming loudly. from the blood smeared up to her forearm, you’d guess she hunted the creature herself. she waves excitedly as both you and sylla enter the base, saying that food will be ready soon.

at least that’s what you imagine ‘ _two shakes of a rabbit’s foot_ ’ means, but you don’t really ask for clarification.

she leaves the carcass for sylla’s bear and your hawk and boar to eat from and continues her cheerful singing while you and bradwarden drag logs and benches over to sit on. sylla tries to get out his pipe again, but you glare at him until he rolls his eyes and puts it away. aiushtha deems the meal ready, so you duck into your tent to wipe off the red warpaint and retrieve bowls on the way back. when you return, there are two wolves digging into the carcass, and lycan is unbuckling the claws from his forearms.

you ignore him long enough to at least pass the bowls to aiushtha, then pass a portion to sylla. you go to sit next to him, but he kicks both legs up onto the rest of the bench and stares you dead in the eye. he jerks his head to the side, where you can only guess lycan is now sitting. you bare your teeth at him for a moment out of petty frustration, but he just mouths ‘ _go_ ’ and digs into his meal without a second glance.

you only just manage to bite back a groan, but you get a bowl for yourself and lycan as well before turning to sit on the log beside him. he stiffens, but accepts the food without comment and starts eating quickly. you assume he wants to get out of this situation as soon as possible, and you don’t exactly blame him.

somehow both of the centaurs finish their meals first, despite auishtha’s nonstop recount of the day. apparently both she and bradwarden had managed to kill the trolls near the top lane again, but lost the tower in the process. she asks if you’ll accompany her back to the lane in the morning, and you give a nod. anything to keep yourself busy until the game is over, and you haven’t seen lycan actually in lane the entirety of the match either.

after deciding on the basic plan for tomorrow, the two retire back to their shared tent, leaving you with sylla and lycan. or, quite honestly, just with lycan. sylla seems to have dug out his pipe while you weren’t looking and is currently laying back on the bench, blowing smoke rings into the air. you catch lycan wrinkling his nose and figure it’s about as good a time as any to try talking to him.

“i never liked the smell either.”

he startles just the slightest, eyes finding yours for a half second before looking back down to the bowl in hands. he grunts, wrinkling his nose again. after a beat you realize that’s the only response he’s going to give, so you groan internally and scrounge for another conversation topic. he’d spent most of his time jungling or split pushing, neither of which were terribly interesting, and when he wasn’t doing that you’d say it’s fair to assume he was watching you.

“how’s bottom lane been doing?” you try, keeping your eyes on him. he glances back at you and flicks his eyes away again, but you can begrudgingly understand not wanting eye contact.

“pushed to tier two. easy to finish off,” is the response he gives, and you’re surprised he didn’t just give you a once over and leave. his accent catches you off guard as well, sticking to his vowels and making the growling edge of his voice even thicker. you can’t place it immediately, but it sounds familiar.

“going to do that alone, are you?”

seeming to have expended his words for the day, all he does is nod.

you turn your head back to sylla, sneering at him when you realize he’s been watching the pathetic exchange. he shrugs as much as he can while laying down.

 _this is pointless_ , you mouth at him, _he’s just going to murder me like i told you._

 _stop being dramatic_ , he mouths back, _maybe he’s just as shit at conversation as you are._

 _i’m telling you this was a bad idea,_ you shoot back, and you think it’s time to cut your losses and retreat to your tent, but sylla jerks his chin back towards you and gestures to turn back around.

whatever he was trying to get you to see is gone by the time you look back at lycan, his eyes fixed intently to the ground. the bowl in his hand looks ready to split in half from how hard he’s holding it, and that definitely signifies the end of the night to you. you’d rather get a night of rest before he pounces and strangles you to death.

you say your goodnights quickly, kicking sylla in the ankle as you pass, and crawl into your tent before either of them can do anything to make you stay. you’re awake long enough to hear someone else go to their tent, but the night takes you soon enough.

☼

the morning opens with aiushtha singing and your boar snuffling at the flaps of your tent. you assume just from the light peaking in it’s early dawn, so you allow yourself a few minutes of laying there before you scrub the grit from your eyes and crawl outside. the sky is still pink at the edges, so you guess there’s at least a couple hours before the fighting begins. you stifle a yawn and turn to grab your armor from inside the tent, pulling on the leathers with practiced ease.

until you get to your bracers.

one is already on, and after the furred cuff is secured around your bicep, that seems to be the end of the pile of leathers. a quick duck back inside the tent tells you the other bracer isn’t there, and upon further inspection your pot of face paint is in the wrong spot. you turn to duck back outside, thinking that maybe one of your animal companions had run off with your bracer, when you nearly bump right into lycan.

the man is already armored and, judging by the wolves at his feet, about to head to his lane. you don’t imagine he needs help, and considering you’re about two yards away from the fountain and everyone is still around you’re confident he’s not going to try and bash your skull in or anything.

no, he just shoves your missing bracer at your chest and drops it into your hand when it comes up by instinct.

“found this. goodbye.”

he turns and runs off through the barracks before you can even get a word out, which you’re not exactly surprised about. your eyes follow him until he disappears into the dark jungle, then look down at the bracer in your hands. same as always, trimmed with fur and worn with age. you turn it over to pull over your hand when you notice a group of small indents on the edge of the leather. bringing it to your face, the half circle shape and larger gouges connect easily with what you imagine the pattern of lycan’s teeth look like.

the covering of coarse dark hair that matches his wolves would solidify that he had been the one to take your bracer, and you let out your first groan of the day. you pull it on anyway and brush some of the fur away, then sylla kicks you in the back of the knee to get moving to the lane.

at some point along the walk to the top tower, you spot a smear of red paint on a tree, smudged and scratched over.

perfect.

you manage to push it out of your mind for a while, focused on cleaning out enemy creep waves and getting your own across the river again. the enemy top tower is still standing, though noticeably crumbled and looking weak. it might have been smarter to deny it during the night, but the moment of pause to finish it off would allow someone to come and contest it at least. the thought of a longer distraction that a battle offered was appealing right now.

sylla breaks off towards the river when the creeps are pushed across, leaving his bear to run behind the tower and deal with the incoming creeps while you finish off the tower itself. most of the little warrior things had fallen along the way, so you pause to wait just outside range. you can handle a few hits from the tower, but not long enough to finish the thing off.

a sound to the side draws your attention, and you raise your axes in preparation for an enemy hero to come out of the trees. waiting in the secret shop is a dirty trick, but certainly one that has been used many times before.

instead, lycan comes from the treeline. he gives you a slight nod before summoning two of his wolves, waiting to the side for a moment before the next wave of allied creeps comes charging towards the tower. he moves as well, attacking at weak points in the building while his wolves dance around the base along with the creeps.

after a moment of hesitation, you join in. your axes and lycan’s claws make quick work of the structure, and it tumbles within moments, along with the announcers call that the radiant was now missing it’s top tower. the few remaining creeps charge forward, already pressing to attack to the tier two. you imagine sylla will rejoin his bear up ahead.

lycan makes a growling noise from beside you, and again your axes raise on instinct. if you were a homicidal werewolf seeking to kill one of your teammates, you figure now would be as good a time as any. he sends his wolves on ahead alone.

well, at least they’re being spared from witnessing your murder.

“slom.”

what.

“what?”

lycan makes that sound again, which you can now recognize as clearing his throat. slom hasn’t been a topic of your thought or conversation for years, but you suppose if someone was going to track you down and kill you, it would be over the murder of the king. you turn to face lycan now, keeping your axes ready just in case.

he straightens his back, hands flexing at his sides. one of them comes up to scratch the side of his face, and the tilt of his shoulders makes him look somewhat hesitant.

“i remember you from slom. it’s been many years, yes?” he takes a moment before tipping his head towards you. “banehallow of house ambry.”

you manage to school the look of surprise on your face, but certainly not the feeling of it internally. you remember him as well, and certainly the day the king cursed him. it wasn’t a good one. though you easily recall the common visits his family paid to the king’s court. his parents handled diplomatic matters, leaving young banehallow to wander the castle. by then the king’s obsession with strange beasts and magic had only started, but some rooms and entire wings of the castle had been sectioned off, leaving nowhere interesting but the stables for him to explore.

you remember showing him the lions, letting him toss scraps of raw meat to the beasts. he let the dogs lick his face and didn’t care for getting dirt or straw all over his pants. he’d pull on the thick leather gloves for birds to perch on while you fed them, carefully stroking their chest feathers while you explained which region they’d come from or how they acted in the wild.

you remember your gaze lingering on him and flicking away when he turned back to you, trying to busy yourself with caring for the animals when he visited. he’d call your name into the stables and you’d find him petting the horses, speaking quietly to them.

you remember wondering what it would be like to kiss him.

the thought brings you back to the present, where lycan -- no, banehallow -- is still staring at you. his head is tilted just slightly, and his eyebrows are furrowed in what you can assume is confusion. you’re pretty sure you’ve been staring off into the distance for at least a minute.

“does that mean you aren’t trying to kill me?”

of all the questions that come to mind, that’s the first one you blurt out. not ‘ _how are you still alive?_ ’ or ‘ _why are you participating in this game?_ ’ or ‘ _why do you still remember me, a glorified stable boy?_ ’ to be fair, none of those questions included bodily harm.

he makes an incredulous face, brows deepening and mouth forming a scowl while his nostrils flare. a small part of you remembers him being this expressive as well, how he could never hide his mood. he crosses his arms over his chest, then uncrosses them and settles to crack his knuckles by his side.

“no,” he says, sounding more confused than upset by your question, “i would never harm a teammate. especially not one i am trying to court.”

what.

“what?”

the sudden look of surprise that crosses over his face might have been hilarious in any other situation, but your higher brain functions shut down the moment he says that to you. the surprise morphs into a mix of panic and embarrassment and his back goes ramrod straight. you only just catch the whispered curse before his body is transforming into a sleek red and black wolf, darting past you and down the river before you can even get a word out.

you continue staring at the spot where he just stood, axes held limp at your sides.

court?

you don’t even try to resist when the drow ranger finds you standing in the middle of the lane, bursting you down with frost arrows in a matter of seconds.

even when you respawn back at the fountain, you sit and stare at the rock for what you can only imagine is an unreasonable amount of time. eventually, the sky turns dark and the announcer calls the end of the day, which finally breaks you out of your stupor. the word _court_ still rattles around in your mind, but you sigh and make yourself stand up.

time to find sylla.

ugh.

☾

you find sylla in the exact same spot as last time, sitting on a fallen log with his pipe between his teeth. his bear is a few yards off, tearing into the ancient camp. in any other match, you would get on him for making the bear do all his work, but now you’d rather pester him for what he passes off as advice. he raises an eyebrow when you sit down across from him. you see he’s half heartedly whittling what looks like a duck.

“lycan is banehallow of ambry. who i knew when i was younger. from slom.”

it sounds as ridiculous out loud as it does in your head.

sylla blows a smoke ring off to the side and starts giving his carved duck a second head.

“did you not know?”

“of course i didn’t, you useless ass. if i did, i wouldn’t be here inhaling your secondhand smoke.”

he shrugs, focused on the first leg of his carving. he doesn’t offer another snappy remark, so you put your head in your hands and groan.

it’s been too many years to remember things precisely, but you remember being happy whenever banehallow visited. it always meant the king was busy and you were free to show him around. you remember sneaking outside the castle walls and walking in the woods, climbing trees and showing him how to make bird calls. even back then he prefered the company of dogs, scratching them behind the ears and cooing, sitting beside you on the stone floors for hours.

you remember when his visits got shorter, only being able to talk for a few minutes, which lessened to a passing wave and eventually led to not even coming along with his parents. at the time you didn’t understand, but when ambry sent soldiers and the news of the house being wiped out was made apparent to the rest of slom, it made sense.

sylla starts carving the eyes on his hideously malformed duck, and you scratch your beard before gathering your thoughts.

“he says he’s trying to court me.”

that gets the druid’s attention, head lifting and tilting in curiosity before he makes a hum. he nods for you to continue.

“he says that, but like i said before, all he’s done is stare at me whenever possible and follow me from one tower to another. he’s apparently added stealing my armor and chewing on it, along with messing with my war paint. you’d think a noble would know how to court without getting the signal mixed with murder.”

sylla considers this for a second, putting his carving down to inhale from his pipe.

“have you considered--” he pauses to blow the smoke out through his nose, momentarily evoking the image of a dragon “--that because of banehallow’s curse of lycanthropy, he hasn’t had much interaction with other people, least likely that of romantic intention?” he flicks ashes from his pipe, biting it again with his teeth while he picks up his carving, “he’s relying on his canine instincts to show he cares. you of all people should know scenting, staring, and following are signs of affection in dogs and wolves.”

he nods his head, clearly pleased with what he’s said, and starts on what seems to be a gout of fire coming from the duck’s head.

“oh.”

oh.

“ _fuck._ ”

sylla hums in agreement, then holds the monstrous duck carving towards you.

“it’s a wolf. do you like it?”

“it looks like shit,” you say, then stand up and stomp off to go find banehallow.

as soon as you’re out of sylla’s line of sight, you pause in the secret shop. what he said made sense, and you’re not exactly going to fault the fact banehallow has forgotten what exactly humans do to court. you’ve spent your fair share of time without the company of other people, so your ways weren’t always the most civilized. spending more than half your life in only the company of wolves would do that sort of thing to a man.

you huff, then rub the heel of your palm into your eye. the subject of courting or marriage was never something you thought of as a child, let alone being courted or married to someone of noble status. you’d always figured back then you would find a nice barmaid or another stable boy to settle down with, but the idea was years away. sure, you had entertained… _thoughts_ about banehallow when you were younger, but what young man didn’t?

you let out a groan.

if banehallow remembered enough about you from slom to want to court you, did that mean he had similar feelings?

you didn’t even know he was still alive until hours ago, but knowing that now… you don’t know if you can pick those old feelings back up. but...

“fuck it,” you say out loud, “why not.”

it doesn’t take long for your hawk to scout where banehallow is. funnily enough, he’s in the area where you first saw him, farming the nearby camps for late game items. when you walk down the steps to the platform next to the river, he comes down from the other side. his wolves run ahead, brushing past your legs, but he he stays rooted to the steps. his eyes flick to the river, then back at you, then down to the ground.

you take a step towards him, and he tilts his shoulders but looks back up to make eye contact. his nostrils flare slightly, and you watch his hands curl and uncurl at his sides. it’s tense and awkward, but he doesn’t run away. the switch in reactions is enough to make you smile.

“hey,” you start, “you ran off before i could say anything.”

he huffs quietly, but at least it takes that guilty look off his face.

“to be fair,” he says, “i did not even mean to say that out loud.”

“yet?”

banehallow raises a hand to scratch the back of his head, the guilty look crossing his face once again. you don’t know how long he was originally going to go on with his odd courting, how long he would be staring at you from the tree line or dutifully making sure you got to the safety of a tower. in retrospect, it does seem very sweet.

“look, i just… want to make sure. that you’re actually doing this. it’s been a long time since slom, banehallow.”

“i’m aware,” he mumbles, though clears his throat before continuing, “my memories of that place were always of the stables, and the animals, and you. going to the king’s castle meant things with my family were getting… rough. even when i was young, i knew it was best to stay away from the king. you made visits… bearable.”

he says it with such sincerity that for a moment it hurts. you feel the same, but you had forgotten how much you echoed that sentiment. in the days after the fall of banehallow’s family, there was no upcoming visit that you could look forward to. just strange animals and stranger magic until the death of the speaking beast.

“the same to you. i remember the day you were cursed all too well.”

he huffs, though you can hear the edge of a growl. you suspect he does as well, and it’s far from a happy memory for either of you. you weren’t even there to see it, but you still heard screams.

“if it makes it any better,” you try to give him a smile, “it wasn’t long after that i killed him.”

he cocks his head to the side, asks how, and you spend what seems like hours filling him in.

the last king of slom had grown even madder, starting to dedicate entire wings to odd artifacts, corpses wrapped in rune covered cloth, and sending his remaining men to search for creatures of myth. you remember the night they brought such a thing back.

it was only a few years after his curse and the fall of house ambry that the beast was slowly dying. it refused night after night to perform for the king, and night after night you would take it back to the stocks. sneaking food and medicine to the creature was worth the price of conversation, although it still perished in the end.

banehallow listens intently while you tell about the riot in the wake of the beast’s death, of all the king’s both normal and abnormal animals crushing him beneath paws and hooves. he gets a distant look in his eye, staring out into the dark woods while you finish the story.

you let it sink in for a minute, leaning against a tree across from where he’s doing the same. his arms are crossed over his stomach, fingers laced together with one ankle over the other. now that you can finally look at him up close, you do see parts of him from when he was younger. the pronounced widow’s peak, heavy brow, and broad shoulders were all the same. he’d started greying in his hair, though, and the bright yellow of his eyes was very new.

after a few moments he turns back to you, a wry smile on his lips.

“i think my father would have liked that story.”

somehow you waste a good portion of the night talking. you learn he’s crossed paths with sylla before, and that he’s been competing in these matches for a few months just for sport. you tell him of how you learned to talk with animals, and demonstrate by asking a squirrel to fetch you an acorn. he finds it fascinating, summoning two more of his wolves and grinning widely when they raise their paws for a shake on your request. he tells you what it was like getting used to his curse, how his eyes could see better in low light and his senses were heightened to where he could follow scent trails. he says getting used to the fangs was difficult, but you interrupt him with pointing out how they’re technically tusks. he grunts and calls you a smart ass under his breath, and you grin.

eventually the conversation lulls, and you both look to the side where one of his wolves and your boar are playing. the moon is still high, and the faint hoots and howls from the woods draw either of your attention every now and then. seeing the dark sky reminds you, and you tilt your head at him.

“why aren’t we fighting at night? i’ve never heard of this happening while competing before.”

“because,” he says, grinning and showing off his sharp canines, “the other team is afraid to fight me at night.”

that makes you laugh. firstly because he still smiles the same, wide and with his teeth, and secondly because of course the opponents wouldn’t want to fight a werewolf at night. even though from what you can gather banehallow can transform at will, but it seems every child from every corner of the world has been told to avoid wolves on a full moon.

you rub one of your eyes with the heel of your palm, wheezing out the last chuckle when a familiar look crosses banehallow’s face. he glances at the ground, flexes his hands, then blurts out a question.

“can i kiss you?”

it makes you pause for a moment, and the air shifts a little. he doesn’t meet your eyes, but his posture changes. the slope of his shoulders returns, and his fingers curl at his sides as if they want to grab something. you nod weakly, your throat going momentarily dry before you swallow and manage to speak.

“okay.”

he pushes off from the tree, taking the few steps forward that bring him directly in front of you. he’s only a few inches taller, which is even more noticeable when he’s not hunched and fighting. he pushes the claws attached to his forearms off, letting them hit the ground softly before he places both hands on your ribs. you notice stitched up holes in the arms of his shirt, and the flecks of deep gold in his eyes.

you get one hand in his hair before his lips find yours, and you can feel the deep whine through his chest. his fangs make it awkward for a second, but you open your mouth and now you feel him growl as he licks into your mouth, hot and bordering on desperate. distantly, you realize you can’t remember the last time you kissed someone.

his nails scrape gently against your side, and one of his hands drifts down, passing over your hip and finally digging his fingers into your flank. you grab the thick band of leather around his chest and drag him closer, where he presses you firmly against the bark. his teeth graze your bottom lip, his tongue against yours, and you groan into his mouth.

the chain of his shoulder pieces digs uncomfortably into your chest, but you push it out of your mind for another few moments. the night is cold and quiet around you, but banehallow is warm and you can feel every whine and sigh through his shirt.

eventually you push gently at his chest, mumbling against his lips that you need air, and he takes a half-step back. both of you breathe heavily for a moment. he pulls his hands away and coughs a little while straightening his hair. you grin at him, and he flashes a smile back.

“i think,” you say, though your voice is a bit hoarse, “we have a match to finish, banehallow.”

“you go ahead,” and his hands clench, unclench, “i’ll be right behind you… karroch.”

you push yourself away from the tree, sending your boar and hawk back toward base ahead of you both. he moves to pick up his weapons, re-buckling them to his hands and testing the straps. his face is slightly flushed, and there’s a tuft of hair sticking up that he missed on the back of his head.

you catch his eyes before you leave, and he gives you a toothy smile before you head off through the woods.

☼

it’s a radiant victory. two members of the enemy heroes planned to infiltrate your base while the rest of them kept you occupied at the middle lane. banehallow had been on the bottom barracks before the ground shook and the announcer called the winning team. aiushtha had been the only one carrying a town portal scroll, but hadn’t managed to kill the keen man before the ancient had exploded. the rest of the radiant had cheered, immediately saying that drinks were on them.

finding a tavern that would take all ten of you took a while, but the entire walk was filled with laughs and joking. kardel, the man who ended the game, cackled away on the back of bradwarden while the two ranger women giggled along. the trolls congratulated everyone on kills, the blue one grinning wide whenever someone recounted how he rarely fell despite how low his health dropped.

aiushtha stomps her hooves and huffs whenever someone brings up an embarrassing moment, but it’s all in good fun. the drow jostles your arm along the way, teasing about the easy kill at top lane when you were zoned out.

she buys you a drink, though, so you don’t complain.

the match finished in the late afternoon, so the sky turns pink and orange while you’re wrapped up in the atmosphere of the bar. kardel and traxex get into a sharpshooting competition, many retorts being passed between them about the old ways versus the new.

you drink quietly, occasionally talking to the blue troll, huskar, or watching the festivities in silence. sylla departs after a few drinks, his bear looking more clumsy on it’s feet than he does. you give him a two finger salute as he goes out the door, and he gives you a v shaped gesture with his fingers that you’ve come to learn means ‘ _up yours_ ’.

the few beers you’ve had makes it even funnier.

eventually things get too loud, especially with traxex and lyralei switching bows and attempting to shoot bottles from each other's heads in unison. you manage to slip outside without anyone noticing, letting the cold air soothe away the headache already coming on.

your vision is a little blurry and the darkening sky doesn’t make it easier, but you spot banehallow sitting in the grass a few feet away. one of his wolves is lying with it’s head in his lap, and his fingers scratch behind it’s ear absentmindedly.

you find your way next to him with minimal stumbling, sitting down heavily at his side. he says nothing, but you can see the corner of his mouth curl into a smile. his wolf huffs gently and you reach over with one hand to pet the thick fur around it’s neck. your head lolls against his shoulder and you find his free hand to lace your fingers together.

he hums gently as the sun finally disappears under the horizon, and the moon turns everything silver.

☾

**Author's Note:**

> so i got my timelines messed up a little bc i genuinely know shit all about the lore other than what's in their lil paragraphs, but karroch is like ~14 and banehallow is about ~15 when they would hang out in slom


End file.
